


settle on down with me

by saramck



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saramck/pseuds/saramck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian has a soft spot for blondes in yellow rain coats and cut-off jean shorts. Emma has a soft spot for punching country boys with dirty mouths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Blue Tin

**PART ONE - KILLIAN**  


You could say their story started with a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs, and extra crispy bacon. 

You could also say it started with bribery.

Killian was fueling up for his usual Friday shift at the docks when his favorite lady in the whole entire world topped off his coffee mug. She was smart as a whip, as feisty as a wild stallion, and those eyes - well, they could tear you down and size you up with one pointed glare.

Granny.

“How’s the grub?”

Killian crunched on a piece of bacon noisily, much to Granny’s annoyance. “Delicious as always, ma’am.”

Granny smiled - his first indication that something was up - and said sweetly, “You know you’re my favorite customer, right Killian?”

“I bet you say that to everyone,” Killian grinned as he pinched another piece of greasy bacon between his fingers. “But I smell a plan hatching, so I’ll let you get on with it.”

“That ol’ dog Leroy tweaked his knee last weekend,” Granny grunted as her eyes drifted to a booth in the back. “He can’t deliver milk, but he can still eat his weight in waffles. Damn fool.”

Killian turned to find Leroy holding court in the corner of the diner, left leg propped up on a chair. If he was sorry about shirking his duties, you sure as shit couldn’t tell.

“Anyway,” Granny continued as she turned her attention back to Killian. “I need someone to make the weekend delivery runs until that old bastard gets back on his feet. The pay is decent, even if the hours aren’t. And you’d be doing me a real kind favor. I won’t forget it.”

There was a long list of things you never did in Granny’s presence - sitting right at the top was telling her any variation of the word “no.”

“Alright, I’ll do it,” Killian agreed, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “And be sure to tell Ruby she owes me too. I know she had some part in this.”

“She may own the farm,” Granny replied as she moved along to another customer. “But I’m the one in charge.”

* * *

“I really appreciate the help, Killian.”

“It’s no problem, Red.”

Killian trailed after Ruby as she gave him a tour of her dairy farm. They’d already made their way past the fields where the cows grazed, through one of the milking barns, and into the large and newly converted production plant.

When Ruby bought the place a few years back, everyone in town thought she’d lost her damn mind. With help from Granny (there was a reason that old bat kept hiking up the prices), Ruby managed to scrounge enough money to seal the deal. Killian had known since middle school that Ruby was a little impulsive and unpredictable - but he’d also known better than to count her out. She traded in her diner apron for a pair of mucky boots, milk, and manure.

Killian had never seen her happier.

“So, this is where you come in,” she remarked as she gestured to the trucks lined up outside of the bottling facility. “All of my regular guys make runs during the week, but nobody is interested in picking up overtime. That’s the only good thing about Leroy - he’ll work the shifts nobody else will.”

Ruby lead Killian over to an old box truck and patted it’s door gently. “This here is what you’ll be driving. She’s a bitch, I’m not gonna lie about that. Weekend runs are on a much smaller scale, but the first load dispatches at 3:00am. And that’s a bitch, too.”

“How long did you say Leroy’s out for?”

Ruby shrugged, an apologetic grin on her face. “Not sure. Apparently Leroy  says he might need surgery. I’m still waiting on real proof of that though. I’m just glad you’re CDL is still current.”

Killian nodded as he perused the yard around him, spotting the old but well-kept farmhouse across the street. “Are the neighbors friendly?”

“You’ll see,” Ruby said with a cryptic smile. “Let’s head to my office and I’ll get you a key and the list of your drop-off locations. You’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

* * *

Killian had always led a quiet life, but lately things had been a little _too_ quiet for his liking. His life was simple. His days revolved around work and meals at Granny’s and the occasional overindulgence of rum on the weekends. He wore flannel shirts and Levi’s and his old pair of roughed up boots. His hair was a little long and he flirted too much when he’d been drinking and goddamn it was _too quiet_.

(And there were some itches that couldn’t be scratched. He’d tried. He’d tried _a lot_.)

He was perched on a stool later that night, at one of the seedier dive bars in town, when his phone buzzed.

“So you are still alive!”

_“Very funny, little brother. I see your humor hasn’t improved a lick.”_

“You wound me. What’s up, Liam?”

_“Me and the old lady are going to swing through town in September. Ellie has a job interview up that way and we thought we’d make a trip out of it.”_

“No shit? Well tell Elsa congratulations for me.”

_“Will do. We should be there on the 29th, so you sure as hell better be ready.”_

“I’ll make sure to notify the queen.”

Liam groaned loudly into the phone. _“How are we related? The humor gene must have skipped out on you.”_

“Maybe, brother. But I damn well got all of the ‘good looking’ genes.”

The sound of laughter bounded through the phone’s speaker. _“You’re a fool.”_

“And you’re ruining my beer. Talk to you later, asshole.”

* * *

 Killian’s least favorite part of his new weekend gig was the monster of a truck he had to drive. The left windshield wiper only worked occasionally, the brakes squeaked at any hint of moisture, the gear shift was almost rotted through - but most importantly (or horrifically) - the little box truck sounded like a jet engine rearing for take off. Killian had taken to wearing earplugs while driving the damn thing in a last ditch attempt to keep his eardrums from bursting.

The first time they met it was raining like a bitch. Killian was having a hell of a time getting the damn truck to move forward (a problem later remedied by a trip to the mechanic’s) and the gears were grinding away even worse than usual. On top of that, heavy rain for the past 20 odd hours had turned the old dirt driveway into a mud slick. No matter how hard he hit the gas - or reversed it or changed gear or cursed the truck to “fuckin’ hell” - the damn thing wouldn’t budge free. Ruby was definitely _not_ paying him enough for this.

Enter the angry and riled up - but absolutely stunning - mystery neighbor. Her bright yellow rain coat and clunky black rainboots were enough to give him heart palpitations - but the pure hatred set into her brow was what really did him in. He’d never been so scared and so intrigued in his short 29 years on this earth.

She started yelling at him from down in front of the truck - his earplugs and the screaming engine drowning out the heat of her tirade. He didn’t get a clear sense of her ire until he’d killed the engine, hopped down from the cab, and pulled the bits of bright orange foam out of his ears.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

(She was anything but _quiet_.)

Killian had to reign in his smartass comment - there were a lot of things (or pretty blondes in oversized raincoats) he’d rather be doing. Instead he drawled, “Making the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“Do you know what I’d rather be doing?” She asked, hands gesturing wildly. If she were a feral dog, he would’ve gotten bit. “Fucking sleeping, that’s what.”

Did she know that the more she pouted her lips, the more Killian wanted to press her up against the truck’s rusted steel grill? “I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you ma’am, but I’m just trying to do my job.”

The growl in her throat was a warning sign - the punch he took to the arm was much more clear. And hell, even though it was pouring down rain and his socks were wet - and _holy shit, that suckerpunch hurt_ \- he couldn’t stop his shit-eating grin.

“Listen farm boy,” she ranted as her eyes narrowed. “I’ve had a _really_ long fucking night and I’d like to go to sleep. You’re clearly an incompetent asshole who can’t manage to do anything but piss off everybody within a 5 mile radius.”

“Oh, is that all?” Killian mused as he leaned casually against the side of the truck. “And here I thought you were doing the neighborly thing by coming out in the dreary weather to offer me a hot cup of coffee.”

“Why the _hell_ would I do that?”

“Maybe you spotted me out here soaked to the bone,” Killian began as he straightened up and stepped closer to her rigid form. “Maybe you wanted to offer a little comfort to a man doing charitable work on the weekend. Maybe you felt sorry for the poor bastard out in the middle of the night. Maybe -”

She cut him off, her voice sharp with frustration. “You think you’re really charming, don’t you?”

Killian was close enough now to spot the freckles on her cheeks. The spotlight overhead added a bright sheen to her eyes, making them glow in the dim light of morning. “I _know_ I’m charming, darlin’. No question about it.”

She rolled her eyes in response. “Listen, I just got my kid to fall asleep for the third time tonight. You and your stupid truck aren’t helping matters.”

Killian bent slightly at the waist in a mock bow, his face heated in the crisp night time chill of the air. “My sincerest apologies, truly.”

The woman eyed him from beneath the hood of her coat. “I will literally pay you $100 if you abandon the truck and let us sleep.”

“I think you’re in luck,” Killian winked as he gestured to the truck behind him. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere this morning. The good people of rural Maine will have to live with a little less milk today.”

“I’m certain they’ll survive,” she smiled sarcastically. “Well, it was nice meeting you…?”

“Killian.”

“Killian,” she repeated as their hands met in a brief handshake. “I’ll remember that for the next time I have to come out here and kick your ass.”

“Nice to meet you too, sweetheart!” Killian shouted to her retreating form.

The middle finger she thrust into the air was a fitting final statement.

* * *

It took a week before Killian finally learned his infuriatingly attractive neighbor’s name - and he’d had to wrangle that precious information out of a very suspicious Ruby.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked as she rifled through a stack of papers on her desk.

Killian feigned indifference, his eyes roaming across the dairy themed photographs hung haphazardly on the wall. “No reason.”

“Bullshit,” Ruby scoffed as she paused her ministrations to focus on Killian. “How would you even know who lived there unless - wait a minute! You guys met?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! She’s the one who verbally attacked me!”

Ruby’s laughter made Killian’s cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“You’re really hung up on her, aren’t you?”

Killian’s silence and rosy cheeks were enough of a confirmation.

Ruby leaned forward, her smile gentle. “Look - her name’s Emma and she’s a single mom. I’m helping her out while she gets on her feet, so she’s staying in the house across the street for a little while. Usually her and her son stay in town with friends during the weekend to avoid the noise. You must have caught her on a bad night.”

“I’ll say,” Killian grumbled as he rubbed at the still fading bruise on his arm. “She _punched_ me!”

Ruby’s resounding laughter followed him out the door and down the hall.

* * *

Their next encounter was only slightly less hostile on Emma’s part - and that was Killian putting it lightly.

He was just parking the truck after a Sunday run when he spotted her crossing the street. Even though it was starting to warm up, Killian still grabbed his heavy work jacket as he hopped down from the truck. He needed all the extra protection he could get - the memory of Emma’s punch still fresh on his mind (and upper arm).

“What can I do for you today, neighbor?” Killian called as he planted himself next to the truck, hand tucked into the waistband of his worn jeans. “If you’ve come seeking my good favor, I’m still waiting for your apology.”

He could practically feel her roll her eyes even though she was still several feet away. She didn’t respond until she’d marched right up to him, her disarming smile in place.

“Over my dead body,” Emma scoffed.

“I’d much prefer you alive,” Killian smirked as he widened his stance. He didn’t miss the way Emma’s eyes briefly lowered to take in the hand still tucked casually beneath his waistband.

“Anyway,” she said quickly as she cleared her throat. “I’m not here to see your conceited ass. Is Ruby around?”

“Yeah, I think she’ll be in soon. I can keep you company while you wait. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do, of course.”

“I’d rather be crushed beneath the wheels of your damn truck.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be crushed under something a little more friendly? And male, perhaps?”

Killian felt the punch coming before it even landed.

“Would you cut it out, Mike Tyson?” Killian grunted as he rolled his shoulder.

Emma smirked. “Buck up, farm boy.”

* * *

As it turns out, there were several things he _wanted_ to do to Emma. All of them pertained to some sort of horizontal surface: the bed of his pick-up truck, the worn down sofa in his apartment, his bedroom floor, the grass fields surrounding Ruby’s farm.

And the more their paths crossed, the harder it was for Killian to shake her loose.

He was picking up his check from Ruby one Wednesday evening when he saw her in those _stupid_ cutoff jean shorts for the first time. (He nearly crashed his pick-up truck into Ruby’s mailbox after distractedly missing the turn into her driveway.) And since one of Killian’s new favorite pastimes was infuriating that pretty blonde, he was damn sure gonna rile her up before he headed back to town.

He decided to keep his truck parked over at Ruby’s - the last thing he needed was for Emma to cut his brake lines when he wasn’t looking.

“Evening, Emma,” he called as he approached her kneeling form. She appeared to be fiddling with an old wooden plant box set into the mud by her front door.

“I have a gun and I know how to use it,” she replied without looking over her shoulder. “And my best friend is a sheriff so I wouldn’t even get arrested.”

He knew what she was capable of with her bare fists - let alone a firearm. “Alright, Annie Oakley. I come in peace.”

Emma rose from her crouched position and turned to face Killian, her hands caked with dirt. “What can I do for you, Killian?”

“I just thought I would stop by and check in. Make sure you were getting enough sleep,” he grinned as he watched her scowl turn into a reluctant smile.

“I don’t think my sleeping habits are really of your concern.”

“They are when you verbally and physically assault me,” Killian said as he eyed a giant plastic dump truck off to his right. “And if I’m not mistaken, you just threatened me with bodily harm.”

Emma rubbed her hands together, displacing a good amount of the dirt. (How did she manage to make that look sexy?) “About that - I do apologize for how I spoke to you. I should’ve been more level headed when I called you an ‘arrogant prick’.”

Killian frowned, his face puzzled. “You didn’t call me that.”

“Didn’t I?” Emma mused as she tucked her hands into her back pockets. “I must have thought that one to myself then.”

He wanted to kiss that smirk right off of her face. “So you’ve been thinking about me then?”

“I -” Emma began before a little voice interrupted her.

“Mama?”

A boy in a Captain America onesie came running into view. Killian had been so distracted by Emma and those damn shorts, he hadn’t noticed the little boy playing in the yard.

“What’s up, kid?”

The boy latched onto one of Emma’s bare legs. “Drink, pwease.”

“Alright. We’ll go inside in a minute,” Emma replied softly. “Why don’t you go pick up your toys before we head in?”

“Okay,” he replied before turning towards Killian. “Who’s dat man?”

“That’s Killian,” Emma responded as she shot Killian a quick look. “Now, please go pick up your toys. It’s getting dark.”

The little boy detached himself from Emma’s leg and returned to his makeshift play area in the grass. Emma was silent for a moment before gesturing in the direction of the little boy.

“That’s my kid. Henry.”

“He’s cute,” Killian replied with a smile. “Terrible taste in heroes though.”

“Excuse me?”

Killian’s eyes widened in amusement. “Captain America, Emma? Really?”

“It was a gift. Besides, what’s wrong with Captain America?”

“Have dinner with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Emma shook her head. “In your dreams, buddy.”

Killian placed his right hand over his heart and sighed happily. “I guess I’ll see you later tonight then.”

Emma laughed so hard she snorted. And fuck if it wasn’t the cutest, sexiest thing Killian had ever heard.

* * *

Luckily for Killian - and most unluckily for Leroy - that lazy bastard’s tweaked knee was nothing more than a bad sprain. (Leroy, who milked the whole ordeal for as long as he could, only agreed to come back to work after some strongly worded threats from Ruby.)  So after five weeks of early mornings, strong black coffee, Emma’s glares, and earplugs, Killian was finally able to rejoin the rest of Storybrooke for a hot Sunday breakfast at Granny’s.

He was just tucking into his generously buttered stack of buttermilk pancakes when he felt a tug on his plaid shirt. Killian looked down to find Henry, his tiny hand pointing to the ground. “My fruck.”

“What was that buddy?”

Henry continued to point to the ground near Killian’s feet. “My fruck, please.”

Before Killian could respond, Emma (and her shiny hair and green eyes and tanned skin) was lifting Henry into her arms.

“Henry, what have I told you about talking to strangers?” she questioned, her voice tinged with worry. Emma’s expression quickly turned to disbelief as she recognized the owner of that smug smile.

“You,” she said as her eyes narrowed.

Killian’s dimples flashed as his grin widened. “Emma.”

Oblivious to the interaction happening around him, Henry continued to point towards Killian’s worn boots. “Mama, my fruck.

Killian watched Emma’s eyes soften as she placed a quick kiss on one of Henry’s chubby cheeks. “Of course, kid.”

Killian reached beneath the table, feeling along the sticky diner floor until he found the object of Henry’s desire. He placed the miniature truck in Henry’s outstretched hand, only letting go when he was positive the little boy had a solid grip.

Emma watched the interaction with cautious eyes. “What do you say, Henry?”

“Thank you, Kiwean.”

“You’re very welcome, Henry.”

Emma paused her retreat back to their booth long enough for a jilted “thank you” before carrying Henry back to their own breakfast.

(Henry’s enthusiastic wave as Emma ushered him out of the door made him fall that much harder.)

* * *

As it happens, Henry had a knack for losing his “fruck” in a lot of unique places. Like the time that Killian bumped into Emma and Henry at the supermarket and he had to rescue Henry’s tiny truck from being crushed underneath the wheels of his shopping cart.

Or two days later when Killian was checking out the newest fiction releases near the computer carrels at the public library, and he felt that familiar tug on his pants. Henry had lost his toy behind a desk and his little arms were too short to reach it.

Not long after that, Killian was walking home from the docks and spotted Emma and Henry crouched in front of a sewer drain.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Killian asked tentatively as he approached the pair. “Have we had another truck incident?”

Emma rose from her kneeling position to address Killian, her bemused smile a rare treat. “Someone was a little too excited to play ‘flying frucks’ and lost his toy down the drain.”

Emma’s amusement was short lived however - a distraught Henry soon broke into hysterical tears as he grasped the reality of the situation.

“Mama, is fruck g-gone?” Henry hiccuped through his tears, his arm looped around Emma’s leg.

“Yeah, your truck is gone.”

“Kiwean get it?”

Emma stroked Henry’s hair as she looked to Killian. “No, Killian can’t reach it. But do you know what?”

“Wh-what?” Henry sniffled as his cries subsided slightly.

“You know all of the trucks we see across the street at Ruby’s farm?” Emma asked as she lifted Henry into her arms. “Killian drove one of those trucks.”

Henry leaned his head against Emma’s shoulder, his curiosity outweighing his grief. “Reawy?”

“Yup, I sure did. Do you want to hear more about it?”

Henry nodded, the loss of his truck already a distant memory.

Killian looked to Emma. “Granny’s?”

“Granny’s,” she confirmed with a nod.

And with that, dinner at Granny’s became a tradition every Tuesday night. And every Tuesday, Killian would carry Henry to Emma’s car after he’d fallen asleep. And every Tuesday, Emma and Killian would press a little closer together on the sidewalk.

And every Tuesday, he would ask her to go on a date.

And every Tuesday, with a smile and a shine to her eyes and flushed cheeks -

she’d say no.

* * *

If there was one thing that really frustrated Killian - other than Emma Swan, of course - it was grocery shopping. Especially grocery shopping on a Sunday afternoon at the only moderately well stocked store in Storybrooke.

His cart held all of the essentials: beer, frozen pizza, and a new plaid shirt.

He’d gotten lost trying to find paper towels (where the hell did they stock those things, anyway?), when he stumbled upon a mediocre toy aisle. He was just about to curse his bad sense of direction and turn his cart around, when his eyes caught a glimpse of little cardboard package and the wheels in his brain started churning.

He was sure as shit gonna get hell for this one.

And Killian wasn’t exactly an impatient man, but waiting until Tuesday night dinner was an exercise in self-control.

He was settled into their usual booth - _usual booth_ \- when he spotted an abnormally frustrated Emma and a very grumpy looking Henry. Emma’s eyes landed on Killian and he swore he saw some of the tension in her shoulders visibly lessen. (Not that he was paying attention to the way the straps of her tank top hugged her shoulders or the way her collarbones peaked out above the low dip in her shirt or the way the fabric stretched _just right_ across her chest -)

Killian smiled as Emma and Henry slid in across from him. “Well if it isn’t my two most favorite people in the world.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she settled Henry into a booster seat (which Granny had ready and waiting before even Killian had arrived) and said shortly, “Someone is being extra trying today.”

“Well you should know better than anyone, Swan - he gets that from you after all.”

“Do I have to give you a warning or send you directly to time out?”

Killian leaned forward and lowered his voice. “What if I choose neither of those options? Do I get punished?”

“You’re not helping, buddy.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Swan. I think I could be _very_ helpful.”

Before Emma could respond, Killian placed a tiny wrapped package in front of Henry. The boy’s mood suddenly lifted and he started squirming underneath the restraints of his seat.

“For me? Mama, for me?”

Killian pushed the gift close enough for Henry to reach. “It sure is, little man. I saw this and thought of you.”

Emma remained quiet as Henry enthusiastically ripped through the colorful wrapping paper. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he took in the contents of the package.

“It’s a fruck, mama!”

Emma’s eyes went from steely to soft in a matter of seconds. She affectionately brushed Henry’s hair off of his forehead, her gaze carefully trained away from Killian. “What do you say, Henry?”

“Thank you, Kiwean.”

“You’re welcome, buddy. I’m just glad your mama hasn’t punched me yet.”

“The night’s still young,” Emma smiled, her eyes shiny.

Emma and Henry’s moods were much improved following the unveiling of Henry’s new ‘fruck.’ Dinner was pleasant enough, but Emma left much of the conversing to Killian and a very hyped up Henry as they made their way through grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings.

It wasn’t until they were making their way back to Emma’s car, a sleepy Henry tucked close to Killian’s side, that Emma’s voice finally broke their comfortable silence.

“You really didn’t have to get Henry a gift -”

“I know,” Killian interrupted as he tightened his grip on the boy in question. “I didn’t plan on it. I was at the store and took a wrong turn and, well, there it was. A whole peg of ‘em.”

Emma shook her head in mild annoyance. “Would you let me finish, first? I was going to say that you really didn’t have to get Henry a gift, but that I’m glad you did.”

Killian’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “It really wasn’t much of anything.”

“Actually, it’s a lot.” Emma stopped walking and turned to face Killian. “I know I haven’t said much about Henry’s dad, but let’s just say he’s definitely not winning any ‘Father of the Year’ awards.”

“Swan you don’t have to talk -”

“Would you stop with the interruptin’ already?”

With his free hand, Killian zipped his lips, twisted an imaginary key, and threw it over his shoulder.

“Much better. I could get used to this,” Emma laughed as she resumed walking down the sidewalk, her yellow Volkswagon in sight. “Just - thank you. Thank you for being you, I guess.”

Killian remained quiet until they reached Emma’s car and had successfully transferred a still sleeping Henry to his car seat. Killian mimed and shrugged his shoulders until Emma deciphered his request and gave him permission to speak again.

“Go out with me, Swan.”

Emma eyed Henry’s sleeping form through the window and sighed. “Don’t push your luck, Killian.”

“But I’m so good at it,” Killian pouted as he tugged playfully on the collar of Emma’s jacket.

Emma smiled but stepped back, Killian’s hand slipping away from the soft leather of her jacket. She opened the driver’s side door and placed a physical boundary between them. “Night, Killian.”

“Good night, Emma.”

(And damn it to hell if he didn’t watch that little yellow bug buzz down the street and around the corner.)

(Sometimes it was one step forward.)

(And sometimes it was two steps back.)

* * *

 “Just put it down Killian before you hurt yourself. I knew you weren’t going to be able to lift it, you idiot.”

“Who the hell decides to buy a couch and then refuses to have it delivered?” Killian snapped as he shifted his grip on the item in question.

“Someone who is more than capable of moving it herself!”

“If you say so,” Killian replied calmly as he abruptly released his grip and dropped his side of the couch to the ground.

Emma grunted in surprise, her eyes narrowed in challenge. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Letting your more than capable self move the couch,” Killian replied as he plopped down in Emma’s front yard and casually stretched out his legs. He watched as Emma lowered her end with a huff, hands bawled into fists.

Killian had a much better view of Emma’s legs from this new vantage point. “Let’s take a break. Come join me, Swan.”

“You’re really infuriating,” Emma responded as her voice rose in volume with each word. “And if you don’t want to help me, that’s fine. David can help me move it when he drops Henry off later. You know, like a real friend.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “I assure you, darlin’ - I’m as friendly as they come.”

Emma groaned loudly, but Killian didn’t miss the smile tugging at her lips.

“Seriously, come sit down. Something’s obviously bothering you.”

Emma stubbornly remained standing for another minute before she joined Killian. He tried to keep his eyes averted from the way those _stupid_ jean shorts rode high on her toned legs.

(He failed miserably.)

“Even though I’m more than happy to be your punching bag - both literally and figuratively - you’re landing blows extra hard today. What’s got you riled up?”

Emma fiddled with a freshly plucked blade of grass, her worn plaid shirt pushed up to her elbows. Even though it was early September, the air was still warm and the sun was still bright. (And Killian could see the freckles dotting the soft skin of her arm and he itched to trace the pattern they made.) She took her time before answering with a quiet “Henry’s dad.”

If Killian ever met the asshole face to face, he’d have a hell of a whole lot to say to him. “What’s he done now?”

Emma focused her gaze on her fidgeting hands. “He wants to take me to court to fight for custody.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Trust me, I wish I was,” Emma sighed. “It’s like some sort of nightmare.”

“When was the last time he saw Henry?”

“A year ago? I think he has a new girlfriend, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. I bet my left tit that she’s got something to do with this.”

Killian reached out and placed a hand on Emma’s shaking ones. “There’s no way in hell that son of a bitch is going to get anything. You know that right?”

Emma remained quiet for a moment before standing abruptly. She brushed off the back of her shorts and offered Killian a hand. “Can I show you something?”

She could take him right to the center of the earth and burn him alive.

(He’d follow her gladly.)

* * *

Emma led him inside the house, pausing in the doorway long enough to deposit her shoes onto a worn mat that read “Welcome Home.” Killian followed suit as she turned down a short hallway and into the kitchen. She pointed towards the small wooden table in the corner with a soft “sit down” and disappeared back into the hallway.

(The walls were painted a sunny yellow and Henry’s scribbled drawings covered the fridge and there was a box of fruit snacks on the counter. It felt like home.)

(It _shouldn’t_ feel like home.)

Emma returned moments later with an old round Royal Dansk cookie tin. She grasped it tightly, but made no immediate move to join Killian at the table.

“I haven’t looked inside of this thing in a long time,” Emma began as she rubbed her thumb along the dented edge of the lid. “You’ve been stirring things up lately - things I haven’t thought about in a while.”

Killian kept his voice low. “That’s not such a bad thing, darlin’.”

“It’s not all bad,” she whispered. “It’s just - Henry’s dad was a real asshole. Neal, that’s his name, was just a real _asshole_. The only good thing he ever gave me was Henry.”

Killian smiled encouragingly. “That kid _is_ pretty great. He’s growin’ on me.”

“I think you’re growing on him, too,” Emma smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And that’s the problem.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Neal left me pregnant and in federal prison, taking the blame for some stupid watches he’d stolen. I was young and naive and I thought I was in love with him. The funniest thing about it though? I didn’t know what real love was until I had Henry.”

“Emma -”

“No! Please just shut that pretty mouth of yours and listen, alright?” Emma said as she finally sat in the chair across from Killian. “I knew I couldn’t be a good mom, so I gave Henry up for adoption. I didn’t even hold him after he was born.”

Emma pried the lid off of the little blue tin and produced a small wrinkled polaroid from inside its depths. She carefully slid it across the table to Killian’s waiting hands. It was a blurry picture of a newborn wrapped in a white blanket, a blue knitted cap perched haphazardly on his head.

“I never expected to see him again,” Emma continued. “I was foolish enough to think he’d end up in a good home with two parents, and siblings, and a white picket fence.”

“But that’s not what happened,” Killian stated as he turned his attention from the photograph in his hands to Emma.

She shook her head slowly. “I still had two months left on my sentence, so for two months I was blissfully ignorant. I think the warden who was in charge of my case could tell giving the baby away was something I hadn’t wanted. She’s the real hero of the story.”

“Not to state the obvious, but you’re clearly raising Henry.”

Emma smiled and this time it did reach the green of her eyes. “The director of the last group home I stayed in reached out to me after I was released. She’d learned of my fate from my old social worker and wanted to make sure I was alright. She offered me a place to stay until I could get back on my feet and I took her up on her offer. I had nobody else in the world. And I had nowhere to go.”

After some more rummaging, Emma withdrew another photograph from inside the tin. She held it carefully in her hands as she continued. “I was sweeping the front porch - it was autumn and leaves were everywhere - when a van pulled up in front of the house. A woman got out and opened the rear sliding door and pulled out a car seat. And somehow I just knew. It was him.”

Killian watched as Emma’s smile grew wider. “And he was just _perfect_. I got to hold him that day - and clearly I haven’t let go since.”

Emma showed Killian the photograph in her hand - it was of her and a tiny Henry, bundled up in hats and mittens against a snowy backdrop.

Killian cleared his throat, his own eyes burning with the weight of the story. “The warden from the prison - she never submitted the adoption papers, did she?”

“No, she didn’t. She made arrangements for her sister to care for Henry until I was released. I spoke to her after our reunion, and she said she’d wanted to give me a second chance. If I’d still wanted to go through with the adoption, then she would’ve placed him in the system. But she said she’d had a hunch - and she was right.”

Emma paused for a moment before adding, “Do you see why you’re really twisting me up inside? You’re great with Henry and you’re kind and you put up with my attitude. And you’re thoughtful and you got Henry that _stupid_ toy truck and you’re here. You’re always here.”

Killian spoke softly, as if he was afraid he would spook her. “Go out with me, Swan.”

“There you go breaking the rules again - it’s not a Tuesday.” Emma rose from the table, reaching over to retrieve the polaroid from Killian’s grasp. “David should be here with Henry soon. He can help me with the couch. You should go.”

“Emma,” Killian warned as he stood up, palms resting on the tabletop. “Don’t shut me out.”

“It’s not a shut out if you were never invited in the first place.”

“Goddammit, Emma. What are you so afraid of?”

“If Neal could hurt me as badly as he did, even with the way he dismissed me and treated me and left me, I can only imagine how much damage you’d inflict. I’m saving us both the grief.”

Killian rounded the table, caging Emma between himself and the kitchen wall. “You’re smarter than this, Emma.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Emma replied as she kept her gaze locked on a spot over Killian’s left shoulder. “The less you have holding you to a place, the less it hurts.”

“Swan-”

“Go home, Killian.”

He knew better than to fight her.

Sometimes it was pictures in blue tins that opened up a world of possibility.

And sometimes it was pictures in blue tins that blew the world apart.


	2. The Manila Envelope

**PART TWO - EMMA**

Emma was 59 minutes into an hour long session at _Ike’s Gym_ when she finally released the last of her pent up aggression.

“I’m gonna get you, you asshole!” Emma grunted as she assaulted the heavy bag swinging precariously on a rusted chain in front of her. A small crowd of fellow boxing enthusiasts had gathered to watch the petite blonde beat furiously against the tarnished red canvas.

“Stupid” - _punch_ \- “fucking” - _punch_ \- “asswipe” - _punch_ \- “son of a motherfucker!”

With a final swing and a triumphant cry, Emma sent the bag lurching wildly towards the gym’s cinderblock wall.

Boxing benefited Emma in several ways - it kept her sexual frustrations to a minimum, ensured she was in excellent shape for chasing down bail jumpers, and it made her feel a little less guilty about her poor eating habits (onion rings, ice cream, and peanut M&Ms).

Plus, David said it was a good way to keep her from punching people she claimed were “too fucking stupid to function.”

Emma reached out to stop the rebounding hunk of canvas before it attacked her right back.

“Who pissed you off today?”

“Nosy dairy farm owners,” Emma said breathlessly as she looked around the bag to find Ruby approaching her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ruby shrugged as she mimed landing her own punch on the bag. “I was on my way to Granny’s when I saw you beatin’ the shit out of this thing through the window. Thought I would see if you wanted a drink to go with, well, whatever _that_ was.”

“That,” Emma said with a huff, “is me workin’ off some excess frustration.”

“Who curdled _your_ milk?”

“I’m sure you can guess who.” Emma said breathlessly as she tapped Ruby on the arm with a gloved fist. “Help a girl out.”

“That prick’s howlin’ up your tree again?” Ruby questioned sourly as she peeled back the velcro on Emma’s right glove. “Ya’ll are better off without that viper. Henry doesn’t know does he?”

“Nope,” Emma replied as she removed her left glove herself and crouched down to grab her bag. “And I’m gonna keep it that way.”

“When was the last time he saw the little guy?”

“Well that’s just the bitch of it all,” Emma laughed bitterly as she stuffed her gloves into her worn-out gym bag. “He hasn’t seen him in over a year.”

Ruby rested a cool hand on Emma’s sweaty arm and squeezed. “C’mon, let’s get a drink. I’m guessing Henry’s with Mary Margaret?”

Emma replied in the affirmative as she grabbed a sweatshirt out of her bag and pulled it over her head.

“Good,” Ruby chirped, her positive mood infectious. “Because I _really_ need a drink. You won’t _believe_ the shit Leroy’s pullin’ on me now. I’m gonna turn him into cow feed.”

* * *

Emma liked to consider herself a pretty reasonable and level-headed person.

(So level-headed in fact, she’d once stumbled upon a skip she’d been tracking with her hands full and had done the only thing she could think of - she headbutted him. They didn’t exactly teach you that in bail bondsperson school.)

Okay - so maybe it wasn’t so surprising that she wanted to murder the asshole across the street.

She’d fallen asleep on the couch - Henry wasn’t feeling well and so she liked to be closer to him at night - when something had startled her awake. At first she thought it might have been Henry, but then she heard what sounded like an explosion coming from somewhere outside.

She’d expected to see flames or smoke emitting from Ruby’s farm, but when she looked outside the living room window the only thing she could see was the dim outline of a giant box truck.

The truck’s engine roared again and rattled not only a picture of Henry hanging on the wall, but Emma’s nerves. What the fuck was going on over there? Ruby never had her guys run deliveries on the weekend.

Emma moved quietly into Henry’s room and found him fast asleep in his crib. His cheeks were still a little flushed, but he looked much better than he had earlier in the evening. His lanky form made his crib look a lot smaller than it actually was - clearly it was almost time to move him to a “big boy” bed. When had this little boy replaced her baby?

Her thoughts were interrupted by another loud roar from across the street. Emma held her breath as Henry stirred in his crib but stayed asleep. There was no way in hell she was going to let some asshole wake up her kid.

_Levelheaded._

Emma grabbed the portable baby monitor, pulled on her raincoat and boots, and charged across the street. Her anger carried her right on down the slick driveway and into the muddy truck yard. Emma planted herself in front of the truck, preventing it from moving an inch further. If this prick wanted to keep driving, he’d have to run her over.

_Reasonable._

At this rate, she’d be back in the gym and pounding away happily on her favorite punching bag she’d hatefully nicknamed “Neal.”

And _goddammit_ if the man who jumped down from the cab only made her angrier with his floppy hair and dimples and scruffy jaw.

She’d like to pound something alright. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

She watched his smirk grow as he drawled, “Making the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

Emma tried her damnedest not to focus on how pretty his pout looked. “Do you know what I’d rather be doing? Fucking sleeping, that’s what.”

“I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you ma’am, but I’m just trying to do my job.”

Before she even registered what she was doing, Emma had surged forward and landed a punch to pretty boy’s (well toned) arm. Sleep deprivation was a hell of a thing.

The fact that he smiled - _smiled_ \- only riled Emma up more. The pair continued to banter back and forth, Emma’s frustration turning into something else the longer she stared at pretty boy’s jaw and lips and neck. This was dangerous.

 _He_ was dangerous. “Well, it was nice meeting you…?”

“Killian.”

“Killian,” Emma repeated.

(She liked the way his name rolled off her tongue.)

“I’ll remember that for the next time I have to come out here and kick your ass.”

(She was _fucked_.)

* * *

Emma was beginning to hate the existence of windows.

Or more specifically, kitchen windows that faced dairy farms and stupid truck drivers with stupid good looks and stupid hair and stupid mouths and -

“Mama?”

Emma startled and dropped the bowl she was washing, water splashing the front of her white t-shirt. “Yeah, bud?”

“Wanna pway ‘frucks’?”

Emma looked down from her spot in front of the kitchen sink to find Henry and his messy hair and his chubby cheeks and --

She abandoned the soapy water and dirty dishes (and that _stupid_ view). “Of course, kid.”

Emma followed him into the living room, used more for playtime than any formal entertaining. Henry headed for one of several plastic crates filled with zoo animals and stray legos and matchbox cars. Even though he had several cars to choose from - her friends really did spoil him - he always preferred the little red truck with chips in the varnish and  wheels that didn’t quite spin.

That truck was the first toy she’d ever bought him - back when they’d been living off of dumb luck and loose change and people’s good will.

(Back when she’d barely even known what a mother was.)

“Here mama,” Henry said as he placed a miniature blue camaro in her hand.

Emma lined her car up alongside Henry’s on an imaginary starting line. The hardwood floors provided the best atmosphere for racing even if they were hell on Emma’s knees. She signaled the start of the race with a grand countdown and over an exaggerated whistle that left Henry laughing long after the finish of their first race.

He started to get sleepy after round seven, and after a little prodding, she’d laid him down for his usual nap. She cleaned up the mess of toys in the living room and bribed herself with a cold beer if she finished the dishes. And while she dried Henry’s favorite sippy cup, maybe she noticed that infuriating truck rumbling down the road through that damn window.

(And if she grabbed the baby monitor, slipped on her old boots, and headed for the door, well, maybe that happened too.)

Emma heard him before she could even properly see him, planted next to that truck like he belonged there. And when he baited her with the fact she hadn’t apologized for her behavior the weekend before, well --

“Over my dead body,” she responded and, _Jesus Fucking Christ_ , he damn well knew what he was doing with his hand and those Levi’s and that _look_.

She told him she was looking for Ruby.

(She lied.)

Killian grinned. “Yeah, I think she’ll be in soon. I can keep you company while you wait. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do, of course.”

“I’d rather be crushed beneath the wheels of your damn truck.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be crushed under something a little more friendly? And male, perhaps?”

It was either kiss that dirty mouth of his to shut him up or hit him. She chose the latter. Pretty Boy had the worst reaction time, but that’s something they could improve on.

(Wait - what?)

“Would you cut it out, Mike Tyson?”

She tried not to look too satisfied with herself (and him) as she replied,“Buck up, farm boy.”

“Listen, darlin’,” Killian smiled as he removed his jacket and exposed a set of very tanned and very toned arms. “I’m all for getting down and dirty. And if I was a betting man, I’d wager you are too.”

Emma held her breath as she watched Killian hang his jacket from the truck’s side mirror. The action exposed a swath of smooth skin between his t-shirt and the jeans slung low on his hips. And when he drew the moment out with a stretch, his toned stomach and smattering of dark hair on full display, she knew he was fucking with her.

Two could play that game.

Emma bent down and pretended to adjust her boots, thankful for the pair of scissors she’d taken to the front of her t-shirt two years ago. She knew the lace of her bra would be visible through the low cut of the fabric.

She looked up to find Killian’s hands planted on his hips, an eyebrow raised in challenge. His voice was rough, but the intent was clear. “I’d be careful if I were you. You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish.”

(That’s when she heard asshole’s voice. _“You’ll always be alone, Emma. You’re an orphan through and through.”)_

Emma faltered as she realized what she was doing. She liked riling him up just as much as she liked being riled. It sure as hell wasn’t smart. And it sure as hell wasn’t safe.

“You’re probably right,” Emma shrugged, the heat of the moment lost.

She watched his face fall, his voice sincere as he replied, “Do you want me to see if I can track down Ruby?”

Emma shook her head - she really knew how to fuck it up. “No, I’ll call her later.”

“Emma…”

She felt her face flush in embarrassment? Shame? Lust? “Bye, Killian.”

As her feet propelled her back towards the safety of her home, she remembered something she’d learned as a little girl --

If you played with fire, you got burned.

And Killian was a match just waiting to be struck.

* * *

Emma balanced precariously over the kitchen sink, one foot planted on a wooden chair and one knee pressed awkwardly on the counter’s ledge. She fiddled with the thick navy blue curtains until they completely blocked out any and all sunlight. No more accidental glances through windows. No more temptation. No more boys on farms with blue eyes and tight jeans and -

(She’d slipped up when Killian had unexpectedly wandered into her yard the day before. He’d been flirty and smooth and gorgeous.)

(He’d also been sweet and soft and _too close_.)

Henry watched from his booster seat at their little kitchen table, his abandoned breakfast a mess of spilled milk and cheerios. His whiny “mama” only continued to sour her mood.

Emma hopped down from the chair and freed Henry from his seat. “What’s wrong, bud? Are you not hungry?”

Henry remained quiet as he burrowed his face into her neck. Apparently it was going to be one _those_ days.

Emma struggled to get through her morning chores as Henry refused to be put down for longer than a few minutes at a time. She gave up after an hour and decided a visit to David and Mary Margaret’s might distract Henry from a complete and total meltdown.

The Nolan’s were the first real friends she’d made when she’d arrived in a whirlwind of spontaneity. They’d watched Henry for her in a pinch - upon Granny’s recommendation - and the rest is pretty much history. Prior to arriving in Storybrooke, she’d never had this many people she could count on before.

(She’d never had this many people she could let down.)

Soon enough she’d wrapped herself in a pretty bubble with friends, and a decent place to live, and a place where she felt comfortable.

(But bubbles don’t last forever. And neither does happiness.)

One of her favorite metaphorical bubbles was the Nolan’s two-story cottage just off of Main Street in downtown Storybrooke. It was warm, it smelled like cinnamon, and there was always a heaping jar of hot chocolate mix on the counter. Sometimes she wished she could give Henry the type of home the Nolan’s had. Two loving parents, a stable home, and anything his heart desired.

Instead, the poor kid got stuck with a commitment phobic ex-convict who tended to run away instead of standing still.

Mary Margaret welcomed them in with a tight hug, immediately extracting a screeching Henry from Emma’s tense arms. There’s nothing like a child’s screaming reverberating off of the walls of a Volkswagon Beetle to really put one’s nerves on edge.

“What’s wrong with my chickpea?” Mary Margaret cooed as she led them past the foyer and into the living room. “Is mommy being mean to you again?”

Emma rolled her eyes as she slumped onto the nearest piece of furniture. “My head is rattling. He won’t stop crying.”

“Is he sick?”

Emma shrugged, her posture tense. “I don’t know. I thought he was getting better but maybe his ear infection is back.”

The shrill ring of Emma’s cell phone interrupted their conversation. The name that flashed across the screen did nothing to improve her mood.

She stepped into the kitchen and answered with what she considered a very respectable “What do you want, asswipe?”

_“There’s that winning personality I used to love so much.”_

Emma ground her teeth in annoyance as she repeated, “What do you want, Neal?”

_“You know exactly what I want.”_

“And you’re not fucking getting it.”

_“Don’t make me take you to court.”_

“Try it, asshole. I dare you.”

_“Be careful of what you wish for, Em.”_

“A judge would never grant you anything. You’re not a part of his life.”

Emma heard Neal’s bitter laugh through the scratchy phone receiver. _“Need I remind you of what you did? Get off of your high horse, Emma before you get bucked off.”_

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

_“Whatever you want it to, Emma. Now let me see my son.”_

“Lawyer up, asshole.”

_“It’s no wonder nobody’s ever loved you. You’re a miserable shrew.”_

“Fuck off.”

Emma ended the call just as Mary Margaret and a sniffling Henry meandered into the kitchen.

Henry’s sleepy “mama” almost brought Emma to tears.

“Are you thirsty, buddy?” she asked as she lifted him from Mary Margaret's grasp.

Emma could feel Mary Margaret’s stare burning a hole into the back of her sweater. She knew as soon as Henry went down for a nap it’d be like the spanish inquisition.

And so it was.

“What was that all about?” Mary Margaret whisper-yelled as she gestured wildly. “What was that scumbag after now?”

“The same thing he’s always after. He wants to see Henry.”

“It’s not like he cared before. What’s he playing at?”

“I don’t know, but he’s getting more persistent.”

“Talk to David. He can give you a recommendation for a good lawyer.”

Emma scoffed as she shook her head. “It’s never going to get that far. Neal’s just trying to piss me off.”

“Clearly it’s working,” Mary Margaret said with a pointed look. “Regardless, you should be prepared. Just in case.”

“Yeah,” Emma repeated, her mind clearly elsewhere. “Just in case.”

* * *

When Emma was little, she had a bad habit of picking up other people’s stuff. A chocolate bar out of a man’s coat pocket at the movie theater, a few coins out of a donation jar for an animal shelter, and the occasional marble or small toy left sitting out unattended.

(And if those skills transferred to adulthood, well, at least that part of her life was behind her now.)

So when she looked up from her breakfast to find Henry running a scheme, she’s not entirely surprised. The kid was cursed with a cowlick and a predisposition for petty crime. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Emma watched as Henry, who had abandoned his oatmeal and their booth, purposefully pushed his toy truck in the direction of an all too familiar pair of roughed up work boots.

 _Son of a bitch._ Her kid would literally be the death of her.

She intervened and swooped Henry into her arms before he could do any more damage. Emma wasn’t a natural born actress, but she was about to put on the performance of her life.

“Henry, what have I told you about talking to strangers?” she questioned with what she hoped was a convincing show of anxiety.

Killian looked chagrined for all of about three seconds before he started undressing her with his eyes.

She didn’t need to feign annoyance anymore. “You.”

Killian’s dimples flashed as his grin widened. “Emma.”

“Mama, my fruck.”

“Of course, kid.”

Emma watched Killian’s stretched form in action as he bent to retrieve Henry’s truck. The reach of his long arm and the way his t-shirt came untucked at the waistband of his jeans. The way he gently placed the toy in Henry’s small grasp. The way that piece of hair fell over his left eye. The way his dimples tucked into the side of his smile.

Maybe Henry had done her a favor after all.

“What do you say, Henry?”

“Thank you, Kiwean.”

“You’re very welcome, Henry.”

Why did he make it so hard to be around him?

Why did he make it so easy?

Emma could feel her cheeks flush as she returned to their booth with a wiggling Henry. The kid had enough energy for an entire football field full of toddlers.

Just before Emma put Henry in his booster seat, he gently patted her cheek with a hand sticky from syrup. “Happy mama.”

Emma looked from Henry to the infuriating man sitting across the diner. Even the way he cut his pancakes was attractive.

“Happy mama, indeed,” Emma muttered as she ruffled Henry’s hair. “Now, could you finish your breakfast and keep the rule breaking to a minimum, please?”

* * *

If Emma believed Henry’s “disappearing truck” scheme was a one-off act, then she was the biggest idiot in all of Storybrooke.

(And yes, she was including one Killian Jones in that assessment.)

Henry continued to lose his favorite toy in lots of public places. In front of Killian. And only in front of Killian.

This kid would _literally_ be the death of her.

Which was why she wasn’t exactly sad when Henry accidentally threw the infuriating toy into a storm drain. In fact, she was downright elated. Henry’s long con had blissfully come to an end.

(Emma Swan - Mother of the Year.)

But then she heard _him_. “What seems to be the trouble? Have we had another truck incident?”

“Someone was a little too excited to play ‘flying frucks’ and lost his toy down the drain.”

And that’s when a previously totally fine and only mildly annoyed Henry exploded into a full-on level three meltdown. This kid was a fucking con artist. What kind of criminal had she given birth to?

“Mama, is fruck g-gone?”

“Yeah, your truck is gone.”

“Kiwean get it?”

Henry was really laying it on thick now. “No, Killian can’t reach it. But do you know what?”

“Wh-what?” Henry faux sniffled. Emma brushed his cheek - dry as a bone.

She lifted Henry into her arms and noted his red face and scrunched eyes. At least he was really trying to go for it. “You know all of the trucks we see across the street at Ruby’s farm? Killian drove one of those trucks.”

Henry perked up. “Reawy?”

Killian clearly didn’t have much experience with kids, otherwise he would’ve spotted Henry’s fake tantrum sooner. He replied with a sincere, “Yup, I sure did. Do you want to hear more about it?”

So when Killian suggested they take this little party to Granny’s, Emma refrained from running in the opposite direction. She begrudgingly gave in.

Emma and her meddling offspring walked slightly behind Killian so she could have a few (hopefully private) words with Henry.

Emma pressed her head close to Henry’s and whispered, “What was that, kid?”

Henry played with the collar on Emma’s leather jacket, a look of pure innocence. “What mama?”

“Are you sad about losing your truck?”

“No.”

“Then why did you cry?”

Henry shrugged but remained quiet. It wasn’t until they’d reached Granny’s, Killian holding the door open for them to enter, that Henry finally spoke up. “Mama happy.”

Maybe her kid was on to something.

* * *

The first time he asked her out her defenses were already weakened.

(That stupid idiot had gotten Henry another truck to replace the one he’d “lost.” She hadn’t known whether to punch Killian or kiss him.)

His simple “go out with me” was like a suckerpunch to the chest from a championship boxer after several rounds in the ring. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest and her lungs seized up with the lack of oxygen and her vision blurred a little at the edges.

She turned him down.

And she turned him down every time after that, too.  

Emma had a good reason though - she saw what it was doing to Henry. How excited he was to see Killian. How willingly he’d reach for Killian to pick him up after dinner was over. How soft and _just right_ the two of them looked together on those short walks to the car.

It was invigorating. It was terrifying.

And it was the last thing she needed to be worried about. She had larger issues, or more accurately assholes, to deal with.

Said asshole had interrupted her morning routine one Saturday. With her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear she tried to finish getting dressed. “What now?”

_“Good morning to you, too.”_

“Don’t fuck around, Neal.”

_“No that was always your preference, Em.”_

Emma gripped the phone tightly, the edges of her phone case biting into her skin. “Fuck you and fuck off.”

_“Are you gonna talk like that in front of the judge?”_

Emma’s whole body tensed. “What are you talking about?”

_“You better lawyer up. I’ll see you in court.”_

After he abruptly ended the call, Emma dialed David’s cell phone number with shaking hands.

His happy voice was a stark contrast to Neal’s vitriol. “What’s up, Emma?”

“Can you look into something for me? Neal just called and implied that he’s got a lawyer and is going to file custody papers.”

“Son of a bitch. Yeah, I’ll look into it. He still legally has parental rights, correct?”

“Yeah, he does.”

“I wouldn’t worry until it’s necessary. From what you’ve told me, this guy talks a big game. We’ll see if he actually follows through.”

Emma let out an uneasy breath. “Alright.”

David assured her again and then quickly changed gears, “So why is Killian Jones chasing you like a rooster with his head cut off?”

Emma laughed at the sudden change in mood. “Remind me to throttle Mary Margaret the next time I see her.”

“Oh, I didn’t hear it from her. Ruby told me.”

Emma frowned, her tone puzzled. “But I haven’t said anything to Ruby about it. Who would she have heard it from?”

“Well, maybe it’s coming from the headless rooster,” David mused.

* * *

Killian found her in the bread aisle at the grocery store later that afternoon, desperately trying to reach the last bag of hotdog buns on the top shelf.

“I’ve got some buns for you,” he whispered in her ear as his arm brushed against her back. She jumped wildly and elbowed him in the chest.

“What the hell, Killian?”

“Hey, darlin’,” Killian smiled as he rubbed the spot where her elbow had connected with his (solid) chest. “Your elbow is just as bad your fist.”

Emma grinned, her mood lightening by the second. “And don’t you forget it, bucko.”

“Hot damn,” Killian cheered as he reached around Emma and grabbed the package of buns she’d been unable to reach. “I managed to snag the last pack.”

“Oh, I don’t think so farm boy,” Emma countered as she quickly grabbed the buns out of his hand. “I promised Henry we’d have hot dogs tonight. And clearly, I was already in possession of them.”

Killian patted Emma affectionately on the butt. “Are they any other buns you’d be interested in possessing, Swan?”

Emma shivered at the contact, but tried to sound annoyed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Maybe I would.”

Emma watched as Killian tossed the hotdog buns into the basket hooked over her right elbow. “You’re a nuisance, Killian Jones.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, darlin’,” Killian hummed as he pressed an innocent kiss to her cheek. “I’m not a bother. I’m just what you need.”

Killian stepped back and gave her room to breathe again. He continued, “Speaking of the little guy, where’s Henry?”

“He’s on a playdate,” Emma replied as she tried to keep her smile from splitting her cheeks wide open. “I’m on my way to pick him up now, actually.”

“Why don’t you guys come to my place for supper? My links will be awfully lonely without buns.”

“Do you ever stop talking in innuendos?”

“Do you ever stop being so stubborn?”

“Touche,” Emma laughed as she watched the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.“Fine, we’ll come. But this isn’t a date and it doesn’t mean I’m any more likely to agree to one either. I’ve just had a really shitty day and could use some company.”

“I think we can manage that, Swan,” Killian said happily. “See you at my place in a two shakes. Don’t forget the buns.”

* * *

Killian texted Emma his address not long after leaving her in the bread aisle. As they pulled up to the row of houses, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that he lived in a little community next to the waterfront. If there was one thing Henry loved more than automobiles, it was boats.

Emma followed Henry up the paved stones leading to Killian’s door, a store bought apple pie in one hand and the hotdog buns in another.

Henry pounded both of his hands against Killian’s bright blue door in obvious excitement. Killian opened the door suddenly, swept Henry into his arms, and then proceeded to swing him around much to Henry’s joy and amusement.

Emma approached the pair and said, “If he throws up on you, you’re dealing with the aftermath all by yourself.”

Killian grinned as he righted Henry and tucked him securely into his side. “Hiya, darlin’.”

“Alright, Rico Suave. Don’t test your luck.”

Killian set Henry inside of the doorway and watched as he tried to remove his shoes without undoing the laces.

“Why is he doing that?”

“Because,” Emma sighed as she unloaded the food into Killian’s arms and joined Henry on the floor. “He takes after me.”

“Well, obviously,” Killian fired back as he closed the door with his foot. “Where else did he get his curly hair and penchant for thievery?”

Emma rolled her eyes as she pulled Henry’s shoes off. “You’re humor and wit astound me.”

Once free from his mother’s grip, Henry jumped up and made a beeline for a small woven basket in the corner. He removed several tiny toy boats and pirate figurines with great care - he had always had a knack for finding toys.

“What’s that?” Emma demanded as she gestured towards Henry and his newly acquired bounty.

Killian laughed nervously as he spun away. “Can we go back to your snappy banter regardin’ my wit?”

“No,” Emma said as she followed Killian to what she assumed was the kitchen. “Why is there a basket of toys in your living room?”

“I’m a kid at heart?”

“Oh, you’re somethin’ alright.”

Killian set the pie and buns on his kitchen counter. “Listen Swan, you know I love it when you get all riled up like that. You’re eyes burn somethin’ fierce and you get the sexiest crease right between your eyes.”

Emma tried to regulate her breathing. She failed.

Killian continued, “Your cheeks get hot and you do this thing where you bite your lip almost as if you’re tryin’ to stop yourself from hollerin’ up a storm. It’s awfully sexy, darlin’.”

Was it getting hot in here? Had they somehow started a fire in the kitchen?

“Killian -”

“I got the toys because I hoped that just maybe you and Henry would visit one day. And that maybe, you’d like what you found and you’d want to do more than just visit.” Killian said quietly as he placed a cool hand against Emma’s rapidly warming cheek. “It’s just a basket of toys, Emma.”

He touched her as if she meant something. As if maybe she was actually worth it.

“Mama?”

Emma stepped back from Killian’s touch, the moment lost. “What’s up, kid?”

“Water, pwease?”

Emma busied herself with getting Henry’s sippy cup out of her purse, and filling it with cold water from the dispenser in Killian’s fridge. After she’d settled Henry in the living room again, she tentatively rejoined Killian in the kitchen. He’d planted himself in front of the stove, the smell of tomatoes and cheese filling the room.

“That sure as hell doesn’t smell like hot dogs,” Emma stated as she stood by Killian’s side. “Someone needs a time-out for being dishonest.”

Killian laughed as he stirred a pot of bubbling sauce. “Oh, you know just how badly I want to be reprimanded, Swan. But I technically said links, not hot dogs when we were at the store. And by links I really mean sausage. And by sausage I mean meat sauce. And by meat sauce I mean, well, meat sauce. We’re havin’ pasta.”

She didn’t mean to kiss him.

Her hands moved of their own accord as they gripped his cheeks rough with stubble. And her arms had their own agenda when they pulled his face down to hers. And her lips were running their own show as they tasted tomatoes and spice and something distinctly _Killian_.

Emma pulled away, a little dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the momentary loss of sanity. “I’m moving a couch this weekend. You’re helping.”

Killian simply nodded, still clearly affected by Emma’s boldness.

“Also, this kiss never happened. Momentary loss of sanity.”

Killian nodded again, his eyes bright.

“And I’m still not going out with you. It was just a kiss.”

“If that’s what you want, darlin’,” Killian replied as he turned back to the stove. “I’m a patient man.”

* * *

There was a black sedan parked outside of the farmhouse when Emma returned from Killian’s place. She left a sleeping Henry locked safely in her car as she approached the other vehicle tentatively.

A man leaned his head out of the window and asked bluntly, “Emma Swan?”

“Who wants to know?”

“The state of Maine,” he said bitingly as he handed her a large manilla envelope. “You’ve been served.”

* * *

That motherfucker had done it after all. Neal was suing her for custody.

She’d spent all night pouring over every piece of paper she’d been given, hoping that the whole thing was some sort of fever induced hallucination.

But it didn’t matter how many times she read every word on the page - the meaning of the text still stayed the same. He was going to try and take Henry away from her. And the more she thought about it, the more realistic it seemed. If what Neal had stated in the case was true, then he looked much better on paper than she did.

She wasn’t married, nor was she in a committed relationship. She had a job, but the work was sporadic and it didn’t exactly allow for stability or consistency. Emma and Henry had lived in no less than six different apartments in the past three years. She was an ex-convict who had served time in prison. For all intents and purposes, she’d given Henry up for adoption.

What judge would look at her and deem her worthy enough to be a mother?

So when Killian had arrived that Saturday to help her with the couch she’d really shut down. She figured it was better to end it once and for all. Minimal damage. No casualties.

But then Killian was thoughtful and he listened. And she told him secrets that only her closest friends knew. And he’d fought for her. He’d fought for _them_.

And when he’d said “go out with me” all soft and reassuring and hopeful, it had nearly broken her resolve. Because Emma knew he wasn’t just asking her to dinner or to the movies, he was asking her to give him so much more.

To hold hands, and share slow kisses, and press close together underneath Emma’s worn sheets.

To take Henry to daycare, and to the park, and to Granny’s for breakfast.

To buy a house, and say “yes,” and to get married.

To watch their kids grow up.

It wasn’t just “go out with me” -- it was “make a life with me” and “trust me” and “love me.”

It was a future. It was _home_.

She’d tried to tell herself that Killian wasn’t Neal. That Killian would _never_ treat her the way that Neal did - and still does. That Killian was kind and sweet and gentle and respectful and honorable. That he was good for Henry and, even better, good for her.

But Emma was her own worst enemy. She’d burned everything to the ground until only the ashes remained.

* * *

Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger.

Wounds that damage every nerve ending and every cell and every atom.

Wounds that burn everything away until there’s nothing left.

Until it's like you never even existed at all.


	3. Ruby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruby POV set between parts 2 & 3\. Hope you enjoy!

Ruby was a feisty six year old the first time she bit Killian on the playground at Storybrooke Elementary School. He had rudely interrupted a thrilling game of _Duck, Duck, Goose_ between a gaggle of first graders with an ill timed soccer ball to the back of Ruby’s head.

(It was the first of many confrontations between the two that year. Nearly all of them ended with Ruby drawing blood. They’d kind of been attached at the hip ever since.)

Now as she watched the infuriating way he grabbed her drink and took a generous sip, she felt that long dormant desire rise up again.

“My hand’s burnin’ somethin’ fierce right now, Jones,” Ruby countered as she snatched her drink back from Killian’s grasp. “Get your own.”

Killian just laughed as he signaled the bartender.

This was a typical Friday night for the pair, saddled up to the only real bar in town with highball glasses filled with dark, sticky rum.   

Killian clinked his freshly filled tumbler with Ruby’s and smiled, “Keep your hands to yourself, Red.”

Ruby bit her lip to keep from laughing. _Bastard_. “It’s not nice to keep a lady waiting, you know.”

“What lady?”

Ruby jabbed him in the thigh with an umbrella toothpick she’d stolen off the bar. “That’s your only warning, Jones.”

Killian sipped his drink, eyes bright. It was the happiest Ruby had seen him in a while.

“You look like the cat that caught the canary,” she grinned as she nudged him with her boot, the soles covered in muck from the farm. “Would this have anything to do with a certain neighbor of mine?”

Killian’s cheeks flushed as he downed the rest of his rum. “I’m not into beastiliaty, Red. Livestock isn’t really my thing.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at his lame attempt at a joke - he knew damn well what she meant. “You’re sinking faster than a rooster in quicksand.”

“Where do you come up with these sayings?” Killian wondered as a fresh glass of rum was placed in front of him. “You’re loonier than a llama in a blueberry patch.”

Killian knew how to push her buttons - and he was damn good at it. “When was the last time someone knocked you upside that pretty head of yours?”

Killian didn’t miss a beat. “Yesterday, as a matter of fact. I think I’m still seein’ stars.”

“Clearly they should’ve hit you harder.”

“Emma’s got a suckerpunch like I’ve never seen before. I’ll be bruised for weeks.”

Ruby decided to keep Emma’s boxing hobby a secret. Instead she replied, “How long have you and Emma been dancin’ around each other?”

“How long have I been drivin’ the truck?”

Ruby clinked her glass with Killian’s, her smile warm. “You’re a rattlesnake caught in a thorn bush.”

Killian replied with a small nod, “And happy to be there.”

* * *

Ruby started an awfully bad habit when she was little - she couldn’t keep her thoughts (or her hands) to herself. Meddling was something her Granny said she was good at - along with causing trouble and having a smart mouth - and she prided herself on dabblin’ where she saw fit.

(Like when Emma arrived with her sweet little boy and needed a safe place to stay. Or when David was too shy to ask Mary Margaret out on a date way back in high school. Or when she’d gotten her grandma to sweet talk Killian into taking a weekend delivery route.)

And now she felt that meddlesome call again - someone needed a push. A push that Ruby was more than willing to provide.

Emma Swan was the prickliest pear Ruby had ever come across - and she included her own grandmother in that assessment. Not only was Emma’s ex-boyfriend (asshole) rustlin’ around in her affairs again, but she’d gotten herself all twisted up with Killian Jones.

It was clear she liked him - even a blind billy goat could see that.

But it was also clear she was terrified. She was drowning in it. She’d let that fear consume her.

* * *

Ruby was the first person to see her after she’d turned Killian away. After Neal had made sure he’d burned Emma all the way to the ground.

Emma looked exhausted, her eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Henry was noticeably quiet, his smile not as bright as it usually was. Ruby chose to focus on him first, swooping him into a tight hug. She tickled his belly and ribs until he was squealing in breathless delight.

“Auntie Roo, stop!” Henry laughed as he tucked in close to her side.

“Alright, greenbean,” Ruby smiled as she fixed his disheveled hair. “How about you and I go on a little date tonight? Give your mama some time to herself?”

Emma smiled gratefully from across the room as she watched Ruby place Henry on the floor. It wasn’t until Henry had escaped to his room to get his shoes that Emma actually spoke.

“Don’t let him eat too much sugar,” Emma said quietly as she sat down on her living room couch. The coffee table in front of her was covered in paper and post-it notes and empty coffee cups. 

“How’s it goin’, Em?”

Emma shrugged, her oversized sweatshirt dwarfing her frame. She looked so small. _Fragile_.

Ruby tried again. “You know we’re all here for you. David and Mary Margaret and Killi-”

“Don’t,” Emma cut in, her voice shaky. “And please don’t say his name in front of Henry. He keeps askin’ about him and I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell him the truth,” Ruby countered, the itch to push growing stronger. “Tell him you did the runnin’.”

Ruby felt Emma’s eyes burn a hole right through her. “You have no idea what I’m going through. Nobody does.”

“You’re right, we don’t,” Ruby countered. “So let us in, Emma. Let us help.”

Emma shook her head firmly as Henry reentered the room. The gesture was clear - the conversation was over.

If Ruby wasn’t careful she’d get pricked.

(So it was probably a good thing she didn’t mind a little sting every now and then.)

* * *

Emma had looked as if the world had come tumbling down around her, burying her alive amidst the rubble and the hurt and the regret.

Killian looked as if he was carrying the total weight of that destruction on his shoulders. He chose his words carefully. Laughed a little more quietly. Shined a little less brightly.

(Ruby made a mental note to kick Neal’s ass - he’d ruined _everything_.)

Ruby arrived for their weekly Friday night drink session in a pair of stained overalls. She hadn’t bothered to change clothes after an afternoon in the fields, something Killian usually teased her about. But not tonight - tonight he stayed silent.

_Push him._

“How’s it hangin’, stud?” Ruby challenged as she slid onto the open barstool beside Killian. “You’re very grease lightning tonight.”

Killian looked down briefly at his all black ensemble, his leather jacket shining in the glow of the bar’s lights. He cracked a smile, but it was brief.

“Look,” Ruby cajoled as she bumped her shoulder roughly into his. “I know things are all tumbled around right now, but you can’t just sit on your behind and do nothing. You’ve gotta fight for it.”

Killian remained quiet as he nursed the rest of his rum, his thumb tapping absentmindedly on the glass.

“If I came here just for the booze,” Ruby said quietly as her frustration grew, “then I would’ve stayed home and drank for free. Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Bullshit.”

Killian paused and then said very quietly, “Have you ever been so close to something - or someone - that you can feel it thrummin’ inside your bones?”

Ruby held her breath as she watched Killian continue, his hands gripped around his empty glass tightly.

“Even the mere possibility of being with Emma was a shock to my nervous system. I know now just how fragile that possibility is - was. I said too much,” Killian laughed bitterly. “I didn’t say enough.”

“I think that’s where you’re wrong,” Ruby sighed as she placed a comforting hand on Killian’s arm. “I think you did what you could in the moment.”

Killian shrugged. “How’s the little guy?”

“Henry’s okay,” Ruby replied as she tried to smile. “He’s asking about you. I think it’s makin’ it harder on Emma.”

“It’s hard on me too.”

Ruby hummed in agreement, her eyes burning from a combination of alcohol and stress. “I know things are a little messy right now -“

"A little messy?” Killian scoffed as he laughed bitterly. “Spilled milk is a little messy. This - this is so much worse.”

Ruby eyed his downtrodden expression. “What can I do to help?”

“Could you give her a letter for me?”

* * *

Ruby gripped the edge of Emma’s sofa as she watched her friend pace around her cluttered living room. She looked madder than a hornet in a cowboy boot.

“He’s got some nerve,” Emma muttered as she gestured wildly, Killian’s letter gripped tightly in her fist. “He’s so infuriating. Why doesn’t he just listen for once?”

“I think he’s stuck on you." Ruby said as she stood up slowly and approached Emma with caution.

“And that’s just the goddamn problem isn’t it?” Emma stopped pacing long enough to add sourly, “If you try to hug me you’re only gonna make it worse.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ruby smiled as she planted herself in Emma’s path. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Emma looked to the letter in her hand, the fire of her tirade quickly burning low. “Do you really think he meant what he wrote?”

“Not sure, firefly,” Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know what he wrote.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “You lie like a dog, Ruby.”

Ruby grinned wider, flashing her teeth. “And I bite like one too.”


End file.
